I was awake for most of the night convinced I’d miss the alarm on my phone going off. It was set for 6am so I could wake Bob and Claire but Roxanne didn’t want to wake until 6:40. I needed coffee and breakfast. Eventually it went off but, as I was awake anyway, it never went off. And didn’t wake Roxanne up. As it turned out, we could have remained in the hotel for a few hours longer.

I went down to breakfast (Bob and Claire were already awake) at 6. It was very lonely but the coffee was good and hot and fresh. The baguettes crunchy and the ham wrapped in clingwrap. The eggs were actually pre-boiled. I had a lovely breakfast and three coffees – the cups were quite small. As I left the guy on reception took my room number. Back in the room, I realised breakfast started at 6:30. Excellent.

We all met in reception at 7 and made the long journey across the road to the terminal – it was too early to call a cab. We were booked in and sat grasping our boarding cards by 7:05. The ferry was delayed! Something to do with the gangplank. We sat watched a rather demented Labrador pester his owners into kicking about a tough, stuffed rat.

The Barfleur, for this is the name of the ferry, was supposed to sail at 8am but didn’t actually get out of the dock until 9:45!

As we sat, alone in the lounge of reclining chairs, Bob placed his coat on a small table and went in search of food. An excitable member of the Barfleur crew spotted the coat and went into a string of concerned French. Obviously having picked up a lot of French without realising it, Claire simply said “That is my husband” and sorted it out. It needs to be stressed that this crew member never returned after making his fuss.

I thought the crossing would be pretty rough, given the weather last night, but it was actually fine. The Stockwells went to the cinema and saw The Pursuit of Happy-ness. All was well until we arrived in Portsmouth harbour. We were put into the seagoing holding pattern and waited. There were no announcements. We didn’t know why. We just sat and waited. Eventually we were told that there was a naval vessel holding things up.

Portsmouth Harbour from the Barfluer ferry

The gangplank which made us late, was obviously still having problems, so we all trundled down a very basic version – the sort of thing you see on old Russian cruise liners but without the luxury. We were very late arriving but the car hire company were very good. They picked us up and drove us to their depot then handed Bob a black, bad-ass, tinted window, people carrier. It reminded me of a rap star car!

Sadly the first roundabout we entered had an idiot in it who tried to run us into the middle with his stupid driving. And all those wrong way roundabouts in France with not one incident.

The Sad Story of the Missed Opportunity
Alas. When in Sees, I saw a bottle of Pommeau on display and didn’t buy it. I am hitting myself about the head as I sit on the ferry home, realising I now have none of that delicious liquor.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps I assumed an offy would be just down the road from the château or I would be smart enough to look at the alcohol section in the marche in Tours when I bought tea bags. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m stupid.

My last opportunity was the duty free shop on the ferry. Yeah, right. They had everything but Pommeau! We visited one of the best wine regions of the best wine producing country in the world and managed to come away with one bottle of white in our luggage. But Pommeau? IDIOT!

There is no happy ever after to this story…but the moral is, obviously, if you see it, buy it, no matter what day of your holiday it is! Things were made a lot better by Bob’s little present on the ferry. A lovely bottle of quarter-cask Laphroaig, the best damned single malt whisky in the world.

Epilogue
This has nothing to do with the holiday but is well worth relating. As we shivered in France, the south of England was experiencing its coldest spell in decades (no-one has actually said how many but it’s at least one because we’ve not known it so cold) and from the sounds of it, we had it quite mild!

Naturally, when we left, we turned everything off. The heating, the hot water, the electric, etc. Boy, was that a mistake! When we opened the front door the house was actually colder than outside which was something like -5. We quickly put the heaters and water on. Bob and Claire, not silly by any means, left very quickly for the Bush Hotel.

Originally we had planned to all meet for dinner but by the appointed hour, the house was still not warm enough so Mirinda and I huddled around the wood burning fire in the lounge with the door securely shut against the rest of the house. We suggested Bob and Claire come back after dinner for a nightcap as they were off for the Isle of Man the next morning.

The water in the pipe leading to the boiler had frozen so there was no hot water for a LONG time. The waste pipe for the kitchen sink had frozen so the sink wouldn’t empty. A bottle of olive oil had frozen in the kitchen. I have discovered that this usually happens at around -6.

Oddly the freezer had decided to defrost itself, making it warmer inside than out. I’m not sure if this is because it couldn’t compete with the ambient temperature. The sheets on the bed felt like they had been made of starch. It occurred to me that this is what cave living must be like.

Bob and Claire, after dinner, popped their heads into the house then quickly ran off again, having said good night.

Possibly the biggest near adventure of all. Claire was having a shower in the downstairs bathroom, nursing her sore ankle. Upon completion under the water, she stepped out and felt her ankle go. Given her previous experiences with doors and locking mechanisms en Francè, she had left the door unlocked. She grabbed for the door handle to steady herself and felt it start to open. It’s an odd thing but the doors all open the wrong way in the Château du Plessis. She narrowly avoided being dumped naked and wet into the corridor. Oh, how we laughed!

Just before we left today, Elizabeth and Gil came to read the meter and charge us the extra for the power we consumed. Never let it be said that we waste an opportunity to waste a little power. We broke the record for electricity usage for the Lodge. YEAH TEAM!

News via Bob and Claire: Elizabeth and Gil have sold the château and are moving to America. They’re not sure where yet but he wants to go to Virginia while she prefers California. The cheque for the château is due to arrive in four days. Claire thinks they should avoid California.

We managed to drag them away by 11am and we set off on our drive back to Caen. It seemed warmer. It snowed a lot! The drive was uneventful if you ignore the French trout. And the trucks dropping snow on us from behind.

We stopped in Alençon for a Chinese lunch then managed to get to Caen while it was still light. Apparently, Bob’s Alençon mistress, Mary Wong, was working there. I don’t really understand this either but it was something Mirinda insisted on discussing every time we lost Bob.

Alencon, France, in snow

The car was left without a hitch (or scratch) and we grabbed a taxi for Ouistreham. Mirinda had an excellent, long French conversation with the driver and was very pleased with herself. What a clever clogs, she is.

Interestingly, the taxi driver did NOT go through the centre of Caen and the trip took a lot less time (and cost a lot less). Mmmm!

The hotel looked all very cool from the lobby and the restaurant and the lounge, but the rooms were tiny. To quote Mirinda, they have just enough room for the furniture but seemed to have forgotten about the humans. Some things never change. Last time we stayed in this town we swore it would be last time. This time will be the last time we stay in this town! On the very dim bright side, the hotel is DIRECTLY opposite the ferry terminal which is a bit of a bonus.

We went for a walk to look for possible contenders for dinner. After a coffee in the place we visited last time we tried to walk against the wind but decided it was a lost cause. Back at the hotel we booked the restaurant for 7:30.

Dinner was lovely and the wine superb. I gave the crème brulee 6/10 but feel I was being a bit generous because I was in France. In the UK I think it would be closer to 4/10! It had praline shavings in/on it which spoiled the perfection it would have had without it. After dinner, Roxanne, Bob & I went for a short post meal stroll. It was extremely cold. It was an extremely short post dinner stroll.

It should be noted that Bob lost his new hat. He wasn’t too upset as he didn’t really like it. It was a poor substitute for the German grocer’s hat. He thinks it could be in the Caen branch of the Europcar franchise. I have a feeling they probably won’t be posting it to me. Bob feels he may need another replacement for the Isle of Man given the temperatures are still falling and predictions of -10 are being bandied about with reckless abandon by weather people, intent on frightening Australian tourists.

I watched some football on Eurosport before falling into a fitful sleep.

Yesterday Claire sprained her ankle so today we planned not to incur a lot of walking. Initially we were to visit an abbey but, instead, we figured a trip back to Amboise when it is open would be better.

Under the usual starter’s orders, we were ready to go at 10. The car was turned on for an hour to defrost it – the temperature was a lovely -5 – but still needed the application of a credit card to allow vision. Then we were off.

At Amboise we once more stopped at the café. This time, Mirinda decided to confuse the girl serving us and so we ended up with three small cups of mud and one mug of coffee. She then further complicated matters by asking for a weak cup of mud. Of course, it was all the poor girl’s fault.

And so onward and upward. I was sent on a scouting mission to find some sort of pressure bandage at a pharmacy. I found four pharmacies but none were open. I then put on a spurt of speed to catch the others as they trudged the length of Victor Hugo street towards Cos Luce.

Cos Luce was where Leonardo da Vinci retired. King Francois I invited Leonardo to come and live there and he did in 1516. He never left and, in fact, is buried in the château down the road. Apparently when Leonardo came to Cos Luce, he carried with him the Mona Lisa. This could be a lie, of course.

The house was built in 1471 by Etienne le Loup who worked for King Louis XI. It was built upon the 12th century foundations of an earlier building. In 1490 King Charles VIII bought it and it became the favoured vacation spot for the French court for a bit.

All that remains of the original fortified house is the end tower which starts the tour of the house. It has the smallest steps I’ve ever seen in a tower. So narrow, one has to assume they would be very easy to defend. Unless your enemy had a bow and arrow.

The house is very warm and inviting – so unlike most of the stately and historical houses we visit. Outside there is rather new looking St Sebastien while in a small chapel inside, there rests a rather faceless version. Unless you’re Japanese, there is no photography allowed in the house, so I have no image of the faceless one. I should have asked the Japanese guy to quickly get one for me but didn’t think of it.

Statue of St Sebastien outside Cos Luce, Amboise, France

Most poignant was Leonardo’s bedroom, where he died, having only lived at Cos Luce for three years. On the wall by the bed is the famous Ingres painting of Leo dying in the arms of Francois I. Apparently a few days before he died, a sickly sparrow sat on Leo’s window watching him. The great man took hold of the sparrow and decided they’d die together. Sadly that’s as far as the story goes. Though Leo died, there is no record of the sparrow’s death or its miraculous recovery. I’m thinking that maybe he rolled over in bed and squashed it.

In the final room of the house is a collection of da Vinci’s machines which someone at IBM built according to his drawings. Amazingly he built a car jack before the car was built and a tank to replace the elephant! As there’s still elephants, we have to assume this didn’t catch on*. Possibly his greatest invention was the pipe wrench. Anyone who has used one on a recalcitrant pipe will attest to this.

He was a pretty amazing guy and, as Claire pointed out, probably incredibly boring to spend any time with. This didn’t phase Francois I as they would sit around and chat all the time but I reckon Claire has a point. Somehow I can’t see old Leo going down the pub with a few mates and talking about the football.

Leaving Bob amid the inventions, we sat ourselves in the small restaurant and waited in the sun. The woman came over and said something to me which I thought was ‘do you want to order now?’ but was actually ‘do you want to wait for the fourth member of your group before ordering’. I replied ‘yes’. Which means she walked away. I tried to attract her attention but I had suddenly become invisible as usual and was duly ignored.

She eventually came over when Bob had joined us and we ordered our usual galettes. Actually Mirinda tried to order soup but was told there wasn’t any. I ordered a local beer but was told there wasn’t any and had a general one instead. The woman then came over and explained to us that there was no soup or beer because of the holidays. For some unreasonable reason, this made Mirinda very cranky. We ate and drank and then left.

Making a plan to meet Bob and Claire at the Bigot Patisserie, Mirinda and I made our way down to the Château d’Amboise.

Amboise was a favoured place by Julius Caesar as he trounced Gaul. Before he arrived and set up shop there, it had a highly successful iron age hill fort – oppidum. Traders criss-crossed the region using the rivers as a form of early road, long before the Romans built some of their own. The Roman town was called Ambaciacum and took advantage of the island that sat in the middle of the Loire. Seeing a great way to make some extra money, a tollgate was set up. This being the only crossing of the river meant it was a successful enterprise.

Amboise square below the château

In the 9th century, it was fought over by three lords and the successor, Foulques Nerra the Count of Anjou decided to make it stronger than its nearest rival, Bloi. He was responsible for the church which I couldn’t get in to see – St Florentin. It didn’t last for long in his control and in 1106, Bloi took it over. After the Hundred Years War, Charles VII decided he liked it so he stole it from the Lord of Amboise. There followed lots of kings who called it either home or THE place to holiday in the summer months when the poor were busy slaving away in the fields.

A few odd things happened in and around the Château over the years but my favourite has to be poor old King Charles VIII. He took over the crown when only 13 and loved the château so much he devoted years to its improvement. He traipsed across to Italy (trying to regain Naples) and stole lots of lovely art to use in it. Then, on the eve of planning another trip in 1498, he hit his head on a door frame and dropped dead. Weird, eh. But that’s French history for you. His widow, Anne of Brittany, ended up marrying the next king because he fancied her enough to annul the marriage she’d already had foisted on her after Chuck’s death. He also annulled his own marriage to Joan because he didn’t like her any more. And history says bad things about Henry VIII!

Anyway…enough of that. We strolled up to the doors of the château to discover that it was closed for lunch until 2pm. So we strolled around the streets for 20 minutes and then returned.

What a fabulous place. The château is only a quarter the size it was at its greatest but this doesn’t matter. Most of the area is grass and gardens and very peaceful. It is all built very high above the town so the views are incredible and on a blue sky day, you can see for months. In fact from one of the viewpoints I spotted Claire and Mirinda gave out a loud ‘coo-ee’ which was answered, scattering a small group of French people who were foolishly standing around Claire at the time.

Box balls in château Amboise, France

There is a lovely chapel in the grounds where Leonardo da Vinci is buried. The carvings are exquisite and, frankly, a bit disturbing. There’s a rather cheeky pig’s butt peeping out from within a small cave, to name but one!

We wandered the grounds and the buildings, admiring everything there was to admire and ended up in the shop, of course, before wandering down to the Bigot Patisserie to meet Bob and Claire. We had a lovely cake and coffee – actually my cake was awash with calvados which was very nice – then left to walk back to the car.

As we were about to leave, Bob started to search for the release for the petrol cap. As he did, a car full of French people pulled up and he decided to ask them. They gathered around the petrol cap, giving advice, shaking their expressive shoulders until one said that it was a German car. This explained everything, of course, and he added “Next time get a French car!”

We finally found it and managed to get petrol on the way back to the château where we sat around chilling until it was time to once more go outside into the freezing night to find a restaurant in one of the next towns. We found it. It looked open. Lots of lights were flashing and it appeared to be open. The door was locked and no-one answered our knocks. It was very cold. Someone looked out a window and still ignored us. We went back to the car and, after driving through another deserted town, went back to the château for a lovely dinner of leftover bits and pieces, which was fine by me.

* In case anyone thinks I’m stupid, I do realise this meant replacing elephants in war and not wholesale! I’m pretty certain Leonardo didn’t dabble in genetic manipulation. Though, interestingly, he seems to have re-invented the water screw which Archimedes originally stole from the Babylonians.

I managed to wake early today and was up, dressed and out of the château by 8:30am. My objective was to visit the dolmen (la grotte aux fees) just down the road. The temperature was freezing until the wind hit me and then it was too cold to notice how cold it was. My head turned blue and I lost three toes but I was determined to reach the ancient monument.

And boy, was it worth it. 4,000 years old and resembling Fred Flintstone’s house. It stands within a grove of yew trees which stand within a big empty field. Visitors to the dolmen can wander all around, over and through it. Rumour has it that it wasn’t actually used for anyone’s burial. The stones on the top weigh around 80 tons each! Given I can guess how they built the thing, I have no idea how they actually moved the stones to the location.

La grotte aux fees, dolmen, near Tours, France

When the sun peaked over the horizon, the rays of light streaked across the field and straight into the entrance. It was a very magical moment. I stood in the entrance and felt the weak warmth as I turned to walk back.

Today we toured Tours and it was a seriously adventure-some day. The excitement was so great that I find it difficult to type even in retrospect. It all started normal enough. We warmed the car up; we drove down the usual roads and through the thousands of roundabouts; we finally found Tours. It was a close call as we were looking for the Wilson Bridge but ended up on the Mirabeau which wasn’t on our map. Gosh!

We parked in the wonderfully wide Boulevard Heurteloup then started walking down the gravelled centre towards the station. There appeared to be no shops open so we wandered into a small boutique-y tea shop for a morning coffee and brioche. A warm hearted madame, who vaguely resembled Mrs Bale, enthusiastically served us – I was forced to have an espresso with a strength of 9! This kept me awake for the rest of the day. And probably explains my subsequent problems sleeping for the rest of the holiday.

We then continued up the road and into the Musee de beaux artes. Outside stands a massive 200 year old cedar of Lebanon. It is wider than it is tall, or so my translation of the plaque goes.

The gallery is housed in what was once the archbishop’s palace, right next to the cathedral, and owns some wonderful paintings. Most famous is Rembrandt’s Flight into Egypt which shows the beginning of his own chiaroscuro style which sustained him for the rest of his career. Though quite small, the image is haunting, the light coming from behind the figures of Joseph, Mary & baby Jesus as they seem to be peering into the blackness before them. The mule is exceptional as well.

But, apart from the Rembrandt, the gallery owns not one but two St Sebastiens! Sadly, one of them was not on display so I was forced to buy the postcard. Fortunately, the other one was.

St Seb looked a bit green, as you’d expect him to be having just been completely spiked with arrows. It was painted by Eustache Le Sueur in 1654 and shows a bunch of holy women pulling the arrows out. I think he was taking a bit of artistic licence with this as it was Saint Irene who removed them all and nursed him back to life. Still, it creates a nice balanced painting.

Of great interest was another painting of The Three Graces by another van Loo. This time it was Charles-Andre (AKA Carle) (1705 – 1765). He was the brother of Jean-Baptiste who painted the one at Chenonceau. It was an almost identical pose but three different women. They did study together in Rome so maybe it was one of the compulsory projects.

Three Graces by Carle van Loo, Tours, France

Interestingly, the guide book for the museum does not mention van Loo although there are four big, quite exquisite paintings by him along one wall. They are normal scenes but with adult-dressed children in them. Most odd. They sort of reminded me of the dogs playing poker paintings favoured by the Connor family.

Sadly the top and lower floors were closed until the afternoon so we managed a few laps of the only floor that was open then went next door to the cathedral.

The spires of St Gatien reach heaven-ward with lace-like tentacles in a wonderfully Gothic style. Inside all is awash with the colours from the stained glass. It all looked truly magical. Unfortunately, although the guides were printed in about 15 languages, the only one that had run out was the English version.

Spires of Tours cathedral, France

There are lots of lovely chapels throughout the cathedral. In one of them is the tomb of the sons of King Charles VIII and Anne de Bretagne (my regular readers will no doubt remember her from our previous trips to Brittany). One was 3 years and the other just 25 days. The tiny figures carved atop the sarcophagus are hauntingly life-like and a testimony to the skill of the sculptor – a student of the great Michel Colombe who’s statue stands in the garden opposite the cathedral. Co-incidentally.

After a long visit, we all needed some sustenance so it was off to the Celtic Creperie next door, where we all enjoyed galettes with various fillings and a fine glass of Normandy cidre before heading back out into the freezing winds.

We were strolling down to the Place Plumereau (or Place Plum as we started calling it), hoping to find some shops that were open but, sadly, we only passed closed doors. When we reached the Rue Nationale I stupidly noticed a Ferris wheel on the edge of the Loire and even stupidly-er suggested we ride on it. We told Bob we’d meet them there and he went off to collect Claire from a toy shop.

Now, Mirinda has a problem with heights so being sat in a seemingly flimsy, faintly rocking bucket, suspended over Tours, had her grasping the bars either side in white knuckle fear. At least for the first revolution. By the time we were on our second turn, the cold had frozen all her fear. At the top of the wheel, the wind chill was about -50 and blew all thoughts away. Worst still, the wheel stopped to let some passengers off. Then we went round and round about 8000 times, getting colder and colder each revolution. When Bob and Claire appeared at the bottom we were too cold to wave. It was the fear of our arms snapping off that caused the most concern.

Bob and Claire in a bucket on the Ferris wheel in Tours, France

Then we stopped at the top again. I should mention the view, which was excellent, the day being so clear and all. The Loire looked lovely as did the towers of the cathedral. The reason we’d stopped was to let Bob and Claire (and a few other people) on at the bottom. By the time we reached the bottom, we were frozen solid and the guy had to use an oxyacetylene torch to get us out.

Eventually we stood and laughed at Bob and Claire as they discovered just how cold it can get up there. It was certainly a sad day that Bob lost his hat! His ears (and his head) will never forgive him. Oh, the humanity! Still, I managed to get lots of great pictures.

When Bob and Claire had finally been let off the torture device, we resumed our stroll down towards Place Plum. The old town was lovely; buildings with ornate carvings, street cafes overflowing with smokers outside, dogs under tables. It was so beguiling we were forced to participate in one of them. Truly French and engaging. We had a delightful coffee. Actually I had coffee. Mirinda had tea and Bob and Claire had hot chocolate.

Having warmed up a bit, we once more headed outside into the freezing conditions to walk, gradually back to the car. Our mistake was splitting up. At an arcade somewhere in Tours, Mirinda and I slowly walked down the main street while Bob and Claire caught up with us. Then calamity struck. We couldn’t find them.

Based on nothing but mistaken intuition, Mirinda was sure Bob had heard ‘left’ when she said ‘right’ and dispatched me up the overcrowded, bustling footpath in the opposite direction. Honestly, it was impossible. There were enough people to fill fifteen football pitches AND a double decker bus. And most of them were moving very slowly and were taller than me. I walked the entire length of the street but no Bob and Claire.

On the way back my phone rang. My fingers were numb. When I opened my phone, I instantly hung up on Mirinda. When I tried calling her back, nothing happened. I assumed she’d found her wayward parents and quickly retraced my steps.

There was Bob, in the middle of the road, waving at me. Claire was waiting about 8 miles down the road. Apparently, they had left the arcade deep in the centre of a huddle of mad French shoppers, anxious to slip by us. And they were very successful. By the time we caught up with Claire she’d been propositioned by a French guy who, she claimed, specialised in kidnapping older women.

With a great sense of relief we walked back to the car and drove back to the château. We did manage to admire the Tours Hotel de Ville on the way which had these amazing sculptures holding up the front of the building.

Statues outside the hotel de villes, Tours, France

You’d think the excitement was over for one day but you’d be wrong! Just as we arrived, Mirinda suggested walking over to the dolmen. Claire laughed with derision but Bob and I replaced our warm clothes and set off with her, across the frozen wastes. Of course the sun had gone down and we were bathed in nothing but grey twilight as we trudged beside the road. We spent a short time inspecting the massive stones and wondered about how it all came about then headed back. Mirinda’s expert opinion was that the entire thing was created by aliens.

Walking along the road tested Mirinda’s patience a bit too much and we were soon walking across a freshly ploughed field towards the back of the château. When we reached the end of the field we were presented with an electric fence, barring our way forward with an irritating ‘zzzzt’ every few seconds.

We walked along a small gully, peering into the gloom to determine the extent of the fence. Eventually, Bob grabbed a stick and forced down the top strand so we could step over. As we reached the safety of the château grounds we expected big lights to come on and the guards to start shooting from their towers. Perhaps surprisingly, this did not happen and we safely entered the lodge to find a warm and snuggled up Claire asking if the room was warm enough.

Ah, I forgot Bob’s new hat! So cold was his head on the Ferris wheel, that he went into the first hat shop we saw – actually it was the second as the first was closed – and bought a new one for his poor head!

We were under strict instruction to be ready to leave at 10am. At 10am three of us were. We left the Lodge at about 10:15 for le Château des Dames at Chenonceau.

The château spans the River Cher and was built in the 16th century by Thomas Bohier and his wife Katherine Briconnet replacing the existing fortified mill. They retained the donjon which they called the Marques Tower, fancying it up a bit and it now houses the souvenir shop. The piers in the river, upon which the château is perched, were also part of the original mill.

Outside the tiny, very warm ticket booth I joined the big milling queue while the Stockwells visited the very warm toilets. I waited along with a shivering French woman. And we waited. And waited a bit more…until a scrawny looking chap popped his head out of the booth and said something in rapid French. The head vanished into the warm depths. The milling crowd in front instantly dispersed – like the Red Sea before Moses – and the French woman and I stepped forth into the warmth. Stupid crowd. They were part of a tour group. The French woman and I exchanged exasperated glances. Fortunately exasperated glances know no language barriers.

In perfect French (I copied the women in front of me) I asked for four tickets. The woman behind the counter replied in English. Dammit! When she asked me my nationality (presumably for some publicity collecting reason) I said, in a very strong Australian accent “Australian”. Afterwards, Mirinda said I should have said I was French.

As you approach the château through the gateway you see a long line of trees, which I presume were planted in order to create a long straight avenue. Unfortunately the trees decided NOT to grow too straight which would have seriously upset the original gardeners.

Line of trees leading to château Chenonceau, Loire, France

From end on, the château is not that impressive as it spans the river. The weather was icy cold as we wandered around to the river side to see the château in all its glory. Bob and Claire decided it was too cold and wisely decided against it. Mirinda and I froze while viewing it.

Chenonceau is most famous for being built and run by women. Seven of them, in fact. Catherine de Medicis was probably the most famous but Diane de Poitiers had the greatest influence. In all, there were seven and two of them were queens. Diane was the mistress of Henry I and was given the château by him. Until he died, when with great satisfaction and a delicious sense of revenge, Catherine turfed her out.

The saddest room of all is the bedroom of Queen Louise. She was married to Henry III, who was famously gay. She loved him dearly and after his death, she had her room painted black with the inclusion of silver women’s tears, the fleur de lis, death skulls and crowns of thorns, around the walls and on the ceiling. It is a remarkable (if somewhat dismal) room which, when you know why, immediately seems sad. Louise dressed in the official French white for mourning and surrounded herself with nuns for the rest of her life at Chenonceau. It would be safe to assume she died a virgin.

The château now is a stately monument to the French aristocracy and viewed for its architecture, artworks (of which there are many) and ability to subjugate the masses into building anything, anywhere for those with the most power. The sort of place which makes the French Revolution perfectly understandable.

Easily my favourite painting (among the hundreds) in the house is The Three Graces by Jean-Baptiste van Loo (1684 – 1745). Apparently the models were three sisters from Nesle and Louis XV had sex with each of them, though at separate times. Well, according to the guide book that is.

The Three Graces by Jean-Baptiste van Loo

Having toured the entire château and visited the souvenir shop, we headed back to the car, deciding against the gardens as the snow had now started. Very light snow, it should be noted. One step above sleet, actually. I’m sure the Inuit have a name for this sort of tiny, speckly snow but I’m not aware of it.

It was definitely time for lunch (we narrowly missed a dreaded Starburst moment) so we drove the 500 feet into the village of Chenonceau and sat at tables in the Hotel de Roy. I think Roy was out.

The dish of the day was bison so, naturally, I had the dish of the day. Following the cidre I ordered and subsequently enjoyed, I was given a complimentary glass of delicious red wine from the region as well as a couple of glasses of a sancere which was truly delish. For dessert I had crepe Grande Marnier, just to round off my alcoholic consumption.

The drive back to our château was pretty uneventful until we reached Mettray. We had been reliably informed (by a map and an entry in the folder of the lodge) that there was a grocery store in Mettray. Anyone going there, expecting same, will be sadly upset. There is NO grocery store in Mettray. Plus everywhere in Mettray there are signs which state that the place is shut until mid January. As we were close to running out of tea bags, this was a desperate situation.

We drove over to St Antoine de Roche and found a market which drew a sigh of relief for its supply of tea bags. All was well. Both churches, in both towns were closed in the general manner of French villages.

Back at the Château du Plessis we enjoyed tea, coffee, beer and pastries. A little later I cooked the strange stuff we bought from the deli in Sees. I wish I hadn’t. After a lot of deliberation and a little tasting, we surmised it was some part of a pig as yet undiscovered. And, boy, should it remain so. It doesn’t bear description. Fortunately the scrambled eggs, lardon and sliced ham were all just fine.

And then we discovered the unpalatable truth. Bob had left his German grocer’s hat in the restaurant at Chenonceau. His hat of many European sojourns, warm friend to his head. It was sad in La Château du Plessis that night, by golly. Damn near wake-like.

I woke at 8 and went down for a coffee. A grey and gloomy and chilly first day for 2009. In the Loire, anyway.

Bob and Claire had a text from Fiona ALL in French. There was a lot of conjecture concerning how she managed it. And then Claire was trapped in the bathroom by a particularly vicious door. I had a sit down shower in the en-suite which was not much fun but effective.

I need to describe our bedroom. It is huge with a very low ceiling. Actually it’s about 6 foot, which gives me a clearance of 2 inches but it feels lower and so when walking around the room I tend to stoop a bit. In the centre of the room is a staircase leading up to a Mrs Rochester bolt hole complete with single mattress and single sprung base. The ceiling is VERY low so, basically any occupant would have to be about 3 foot tall or have no legs. Or head.

After tiny rye toast and coffee, I went for a short stroll out to the crossroads and back. I was undecided whether to walk to the nearby dolmen but decided against it, not being sure what time we were due to set off. Perhaps tomorrow.

There was a lot of faffing but eventually we managed to get away at about 11 – I should have wandered down to the dolmen – and headed off to Amboise. We finally saw the Loire as we followed it towards the bridge that crossed it at Amboise.

Amboise features large in the French Wars of Religion which happened from 1562 to 1629 when the Catholics were having a bit of argy bargy with the protestants. It wasn’t pleasant. At some stage a creaky peace was declared at Amboise which, as predicted, fell to pieces and resulted in the deaths of a few more religious fools. I guess both sides decided to ignore the commandment about killing people.

Rue Victor Hugo in Amboise, Loire, France

I’m sure during the years of the wars more was open than was true today, for everything was closed. Even the main church! We found a bar and had a morning café crème and then headed into the centre ville.

What a pretty little town! The château at its centre is a good deal (5 times to be exact) smaller than it was at its greatest. Even so, it is mighty impressive. Naturally it wasn’t open. We wandered up and down the main streets until we found some troglodyte houses. For the uninitiated, these are houses built into the rock face, like caves, except they have windows and doors and chimneys protruding from the rocks. All most peculiar.

It was then across town to the church of St Denis. Started in 1107 (they think) by Hugues, 1st Lord of Amboise. It was built on a Gallo-Roman site. It sits majestically at the top of a hill and, from its front door, commands an excellent view of the town and the château within it.

The church is big and dark but has a couple of interesting points (there was no English guide). There is a memorial statue of a young girl who seems to have drowned. She lays, drenched and cold on a stone slab. Very evocative.

At the top of some of the columns are carvings of (I think) biblical stories. Some quite harsh and bloodthirsty, just like the Breton parish closes. They love scaring the poor peasants into subjugation!

Detail of St Denis column, Amboise, Loire, France

We left the church and wandered down to the Chinese restaurant where I ordered frogs legs which no-one else was tempted to try for some obscure reason. The others decided for more traditional Chinese dishes rather than my option of Chinese/French nouveau fusion cuisine. We feasted on Chinese as it was the only restaurant we could find that was open.

Full of food, we left, stopping at the Bigot Patisserie in order for Claire, Bob and Mirinda to buy out the shop. I attempted to visit the main church but was repelled by a large sign which declared that the church was “…not open to the public!” I walked over and waited by the river instead.

A short trip back to the château and our day was done.

The only English TV is the news. After hearing the same news three times, I decided to go and listen to Mirinda play her guitar. Then we went back downstairs to watch the New Years day concert from Vienna…except it wasn’t. It was a New Years day concert from somewhere else and featured bits of opera as well as some well known orchestral pieces. With over 900 TV channels do you think I could find it? Yes, the answer is no, I couldn’t.

We nourished ourselves with cheese sandwiches and pastry before, eventually, retiring for the night. Oh, what hedonists we are! It never stops.